


The Other Side

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fae Stiles Stilinski, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 11:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15684414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: Stiles doesn't know anything about his father, only what his mother told him, that he's human. Despite her words, Stiles has had his doubts. So when the queen sends him through the veil, he's nervous and isn't sure what to think.





	The Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sick of second guessing this fic. Here.
> 
> It was meant to be for the Steter Week Creature Stiles prompt.

Stiles has always liked the wolves best.

In the land of the fae, they grow to be quite large. Of course they'd never hurt one of the folk, but still, many people are wary around them. 

Not Stiles. He loves them and they love him. But because Stiles has affinity with them, it causes the other folk to whisper behind his back.

Some even say he should go live with the winter elves. He's heard it all his life. His mother told him once that his father was human, but most people whisper that they don't know that for sure, do they? His father could be dark. It would explain so much.

Claudia tells Stiles not to worry. That even if it was true, it wouldn't change his heart. But Stiles worries sometimes, when his wolves are threatened, when violent protectiveness rises up inside him: maybe he _is_ dark.

* * *

There's a fight between the light and dark elves, just a skirmish. But Claudia is killed, and Stiles doesn't know what to do. He's not of age yet, and doesn't have anyone else. He hides with his wolves for days. They share their kills with him and make him feel protected.

He grieves for his mother. He curls around his wolves, or they curl around him, and he cries into their thick fur.

But eventually the Queen finds him. "I'm sending you to live with your father."

And Stiles doesn't know anything about his father, only what his mother told him, that he's human. Despite her words, Stiles has had his doubts. So when the queen sends him through the veil, he's nervous and isn't sure what to think.

The queen sends him with one of her attendants, someone versed in the way of humans. Stiles has to wear funny clothes, and so does the attendant. They walk through the veil and emerge in a forest, near a convergence of ley lines and an old oak tree. Stiles puts his hand on the tree's trunk. It's not so different than the trees on the Fae world, though all the other trees around him don't carry the same power.

Stiles lingers in the forest, not wanting to follow the attendant. "What if he doesn't believe you? What if-" He cuts himself off before asking 'What if he isn't really my father'.

"Leave it to me," the attendant says. 

They walk. Stiles can feel the presence of wolves, not there at the moment but like they spend a lot of time amongst the trees. It does help settle Stiles a little.

But eventually the trees thin and houses and pavement come into view. Stiles doesn't like it. He feels like he's leaving magic behind, though that's silly since he is basically made of magic. But being away from the forest makes him feel sad.

The first time Stiles sees a car, he doesn't know if he should be scared or in awe. There's no magic in the thing, but it moves along quickly and carries its passenger as fast as Stiles himself can run. It stinks, though, like something long dead set on fire. Stiles decides he doesn't like the cars much, especially when he sees more of them. They all stink.

They come to a house and the attendant presses a button next to the front door. Stiles twists his shirt in his hands and bites his lower lip. He hears footsteps. It's time.

The door opens and a sad-looking man in beige clothes appears. "Yes?"

"Are you John Stilinski?" the attendant asks.

"I am. May I help you?" The man looks down at Stiles and his eyes widen. 

The attendant probably has a whole spiel to give and Stiles knows he should keep his mouth shut, but he can't help speaking up.

"My mom died and you're supposed to be my dad," Stiles says. His voice breaks a little but he keeps talking. "Can I live with you now?"

The attendant gives him a stern glare. Stiles shrugs, and then the attendant produces some papers. "The boy's birth certificate naming you the father."

Stilinski takes the paper immediately and scans it. "Claudia," he breathes.

Stiles winces. Hearing his mother's name hurts. 

"Why didn't she tell me about you?" Stilinski — his father — asks. He squints at the paper. "That's a mouthful for a name you've got there."

"Just call me Stiles." He swallows. "She didn't tell me much about you except… I mean, I don't really know anything about you."

His father holds out his hand. Stiles doesn't know what he's doing. 

The attendant speaks up. "He's been very sheltered."

* * *

John Stilinski takes him in. Gives him a room and a bed to sleep in. He tries to talk to him about things he thinks ten year old boys might like, but Stiles is frequently confused. He can tell his father is just as confused, and doesn't know what to do with him.

His father seems to finally settle on 'lived in a cult' as an explanation to why Stiles is so weird. 

Stiles starts school and it's a disaster. Stiles is obviously intelligent, but he's far behind his peers. His teachers decide he has an undiagnosed learning disorder and he's sent to a specialist. He's tested extensively. It's annoying. He's so tempted to just put a little magic on the psychologist he winds up talking to.

Instead, he lets his father's assumptions become other adults' assumptions as well. He was in a cult until his mother died, and wasn't exposed to a traditional education up until now. Of course he's behind. But he's smart enough to catch up with help, so the school system decides to issue him a special tutor.

Somehow along the way he also gets an ADHD diagnosis and medication. He takes it once just to try it, and gets hyperfocused on a computer game for four hours. After that, he decides not to take it anymore. His fae physiology and the medicine don't quite mix.

He doesn't like to use magic on his father, but once he figures out he's not old enough to be left alone, without a person called a babysitter, he breaks his own rules and magics his father into believing he's old enough to take care of himself.

It doesn't take much.

* * *

In Stiles's spare time, he runs around in the woods. The preserve, the humans call it. His father has told him there are no wolves in California, but Stiles knows better. He can feel their essence and he's determined to find them. He misses his own wolves. He was part of their pack and they were his friends. He hopes they're okay without him.

So now he's intent on finding a new pack. He follows the trails he senses all through the preserve, until he gets to a house. It's a huge house, much bigger than any of the human houses in town. Definitely bigger than the one he lives in with his father.

He rings the doorbell. A woman comes to the door. Stiles can feel she's a wolf, and an Alpha at that. She's beautiful, too. Not as pretty as his mother had been, but then again, no one could be.

But the Alpha looks like a human. Stiles doesn't know what to do with this information, but he figures he might as well act like a human. Kind of. He holds his hand out (he's learned what that means, now) and says, "Hello, I'm Stiles."

The Alpha smiles at him and takes his hand to shake. "Are you one of Cora's friends?"

Stiles feels sad at the question. "I don't have any friends here, yet. But I'd like to make some."

The Alpha kneels down so she's eye-level with him. "I'm Talia Hale, but you can call me Ms. Talia."

"Not Alpha?" Stiles asks, confused.

Talia sucks in a breath. 

"I used to have a lot of wolf friends where I used to live, and I miss them so much," Stiles says earnestly. "I was hoping to find more here."

Talia's eyes glow red and Stiles's eyes widen. "Oh! I can make my eyes glow, too!" And then he does. They glow green, like the trees in summer.

"What are you, child?" Talia asks.

"One of the folk," Stiles says. "But my father's human. I have to live with him now." He bites his lip and shakes his head. "I miss home. I miss… I miss my mom. But she died."

Another wolf joins them, his eyes wide. "You're half fae?"

"Peter, what are you doing?" Talia asks, though her eyes don't leave Stiles.

Stiles looks at the new wolf and holds out his hand to shake. "Hi. I'm Stiles."

"I'm Peter," the wolf says, and shakes Stiles's hand. "You're very polite, for a fae."

"My father taught me how to shake hands," Stiles admits. "We don't do that back home."

"Why are you here, Stiles?" Talia asks.

"To make friends." Stiles was sure he'd already made that clear, but maybe not. Sometimes wolves needed reminders. "I'm lonely, and wolves are my favorites."

"You mustn't tell anyone about us," Peter says.

Stiles grins, lets his real teeth show through the human glamour. "Of course. I know how to hide, too."

* * *

At first, the Alpha is reluctant because apparently the fae have a bad reputation in the mortal world. But Peter convinces her. Stiles eavesdrops on that conversation, even though he knows it's rude.

In the end, Talia is convinced Stiles is a child, and probably being honest about being lonely, and in the long run could be a good ally to their pack. Peter is very good with his words.

Stiles meets the rest of the pack. There's Talia's husband, Joseph, and their children, Derek, Laura, Cora, and baby Matt. Joseph's parents sometimes visit, but Stiles hasn't met them yet. 

Stiles likes them all. The pack are his wolves, just like the wolves in the land of fae are his. But he loves Peter most of all.

Peter doesn't treat him as something to be feared, or weird, but as interesting. He listens when Stiles rambles about his home, and how much he misses his wolves and the forests there. He listens even when mentions his mother. For some reason, it's easy to talk to Peter, even about the painful things.

* * *

Stiles visits one night, when the moon is full. The Wolf Moon, they call it. There's a gathering, and everyone in the pack is together.

Stiles senses the danger before he knows what's wrong. There's _fire_ and mountain ash barring their escape, and when Stiles hears their howling he gets so angry. How dare someone do this to his wolves?

He breaks the line and gets everyone out unharmed, everyone except Peter, who is burned badly. And Stiles has power, he can heal, but not this much damage. At least not in this realm, where his powers are dampened.

So he picks Peter up in his small arms and walks with him into the woods, through a fairy door, into the Fae world.

* * *

Peter wakes up after a week of Stiles gently tending him. He's confused, disoriented at first — Stiles can read it in his face. But then he turns his head and sees Stiles.

Stiles watches from where he's petting one of his wolves. The animal is humongous, bigger than Stiles. He can see where that might alarm Peter. 

But Peter only looks fascinated. "Is that a direwolf? I thought they were extinct."

"They relocated to this realm so they wouldn't be hunted anymore," Stiles says. He gives the wolf another scratch behind his ears and gets up. Looks Peter over. "You're healing well."

"This realm?" Peter asks. 

Stiles grins with pointed teeth. "I whisked you away to the Fae world."

Peter looks wary now. "How long have I been here?"

"A week," Stiles says, then shrugs. "But time moves differently between the worlds."

"Is my pack… it's hard to remember. But there was a fire. Right?" Peter frowns. "Why can't I remember?"

"You're mortal," Stiles says. "This realm has side effects. But you're safe and healing, and I saved your pack."

Peter's quiet for a moment. Then he says, "Thank you for saving us. And for healing me. How bad was it?"

Stiles makes a face. "You could have died." Anger at the hunters starts to well up again inside him. 

"Why do you care so much?" Peter asks curiously. What a stupid question, but Peter's mortal after all. Stiles tells him the truth.

"Because you're mine."

Peter raises his eyebrows. "Oh, am I?"

Stiles grins at him. There's no need for a glamour here. Peter can see him for what he is, sharp teeth and all.

"Are you going to keep me here?" Peter asks, nonchalant, though Stiles can tell he's even more wary now.

"We can't stay here," Stiles tells him. "And I wouldn't keep you away from your pack. We'll go back soon, once you're all healed up."

"And how long will that take?" Peter asks. 

Stiles touches his face, runs his fingertips over the healing scars. He meets Peter's eyes and smiles, a lot more gently this time. "Not much longer."

"And how much time will have passed in the human world?" Peter asks. He's very still, cautious. Stiles pats his cheek.

"That I don't know. Magic isn't always reliable that way. When I went back to the human world to live with my father, only ten years had passed there. But I'd lived here much longer."

Peter frowns. "How old are you?"

Stiles shrugs. "No way of really knowing."

"But older than ten," Peter says.

Stiles laughs. "Oh, yes."

"You look like a child," Peter says slowly.

Stiles laughs and lies down beside Peter on his blanket. The trees overhead sway in the breeze. Night is coming, and Stiles is tired from healing Peter. One of the wolves comes over and flops down on his other side. Protecting him.

Peter huffs when he realizes he's not getting any more answers. It's adorable. Stiles thinks that yes, he'll keep this one. It's his last thought before he drifts off to sleep.

* * *

Stiles wakes when he feels someone coming closer. It's the queen. He kneels before her but before he can explain, she speaks.

"You've brought a mortal into our world." She's too blank. Stiles can't tell if she's disapproving or angry. She doesn't make any expression except a slight frown when she looks down at Peter.

Peter's awake now, but smart enough to stay silent.

"He's a wolf and he needed to heal," Stiles explains. "We'll be gone soon."

The queen sighs. "Taking a mortal mate is difficult. Have you thought this through, child?"

"I'm half mortal," Stiles points out, ignoring Peter's indrawn breath. Oh, did he forget to tell Peter about the mate thing?

"He'll die," she tells him. "They all die eventually."

"I'll bind him to me," Stiles says.

The queen laughs, then nods. "You're such a stubborn child. Very well. Though if I were you…" She doesn't finish her sentence but she does raise her hand.

Stiles freezes, recognizing the queen is about to perform magic. Peter takes his cue from Stiles and goes still.

He feels it before he realizes what she's done. It hurts, a lot, but then the pain settles into a dull ache. He looks down at himself. "You've aged me?"

"Just your outward appearance."

Stiles looks at Peter, wondering what he thinks. "Do you mind?"

"Oh, you're asking my opinion on something now?" Peter says.

The queen laughs. "You've chosen well. Be gone by sunset tonight. You may return… eventually."

She vanishes once Stiles bows to her. Peter props himself up on his elbows and looks at Stiles.

Stiles looks at his hands. His forearms. He touches his face and chest. "How old do I look?"

"About seventeen?"

"What?" 

"Well you looked ten or eleven, before."

"Hmph," Stiles says, and touches his hair. It's grown a bit, sticking up at all angles. "Do you like me better like this?" he asks without looking at Peter.

"I liked you fine before," Peter says. "But I couldn't think of you as a mate looking as you did. Now, though…"

Stiles turns and smiles at him. "Good."

"Were you going to tell me you'd claimed me?" Peter asks. Thankfully he doesn't sound angry.

"I did say you were mine."

"Does that mean you're mine, as well?" Peter asks.

"Only if you want me," Stiles says, getting down and crawling toward him on the blanket.

Peter reaches out and touches… his ear. Oh. They're pointed, not like human ears, but not unlike a werewolf in beta shift. Then Peter cards his hand through Stiles's hair, probably making it stick up even more. "You are beautiful. I don't see how I couldn't want you."

Stiles shivers at the rough timbre of Peter's voice. He moves closer. Straddles Peter's waist. "Do you want me now?"

Peter raises his eyebrows and rests his hands at Stiles's waist. "What was this about you binding me?"

Stiles puts his hands on Peter's chest and wiggles, smirking at the interest that flares in Peter's eyes. He's not as unaffected as he puts on. "I can't have you dying on me, can I? And the bond has some pleasant side effects."

"Like what?" Peter murmurs, then rolls so that Stiles is under him, suddenly breathless at the closeness. 

Stiles twines his legs around Peter's and licks his lips. "It's a lot like a pack bond. Maybe stronger?" It's hard to think with Peter's body hot and heavy on top of him, his scent all around like wildness and desire. He knew he was smart in choosing a wolf.

"A mating bond," Peter says, distracted, watching Stiles's mouth.

Stiles smiles sharply. "That's right."

Peter kisses him then, growling and hungry. Stiles melts into the kiss, moaning. Peter mutters something against his mouth about doing this with an audience and Stiles picks his head up, looking at the wolves.

"They don't mind," he says.

Peter frowns. "I do, actually."

Stiles laughs. And laughs. "Maybe we should wait until you're healed."

Peter frowns harder. He looks down at himself. Yes, he looks healed, all the burns gone now, but Stiles can tell he's not back to full power. "I'm healed."

"Not completely. Don't you feel the fatigue?"

Peter smirks. "I'm a little tired, but I won't let it keep me from claiming my mate."

Stiles sucks in a breath. "Well, when you put it that way."

"But the wolves have to go."

Stiles laughs again, but he tells the wolves to go hunt, to come back later. They growl and grumble, but they do as he suggests.

And then it's just Peter and Stiles together. 

"Have you done this before?" Peter asks.

"No. Is that a problem?" Stiles asks. "I figured you could show me what I need to know." He wiggles his eyebrows.

Peter's answer is another kiss. And then another. Soon they are grinding together and it feels incredible. Peter's claws tear at Stiles's clothing until he's exposed and it feels even better. He wasn't wearing much to begin with, but Peter seems content to get rid of it. Peter himself is nude, and now that the blankets have been pushed away, Stiles can see every inch of him. Every. Inch.

It's a little intimidating, to be honest. Peter seems to pick up on his anxiety. "We don't have to do anything else if you don't want. I doubt you have lube anyway."

Stiles is so offended he temporarily loses his nerves. "What, I'm magic!" He snaps his fingers and conjures a small jar of sweet-smelling oil.

"That's convenient," Peter murmurs, looking at him with something like awe. 

Stiles blushes. "This will work, right?"

Peter takes the oil and dips into it. He rubs it between his fingers with a smile on his face. "Yes, darling. This is perfect." And then he kisses him again. "You're sure?"

"You said you were going to claim me," Stiles says. "And that's what I want." It will probably make their bond stronger, too. He doubts he has to point that out.

Peter leans down to kiss him again, and this time he doesn't stop. Stiles is overwhelmed by the feelings Peter brings up in him, and when Peter starts to touch him, fingertips deliberate and teasing, Stiles moans and arches up for more.

By the time Peter has tasted and touched and prepared Stiles, he's begging to come. His cock is hard, leaking steadily against his belly, but Peter just licks him and tells him to have patience.

Then, finally, Peter flips Stiles over onto his hands and knees and Stiles goes easily, eagerly. Peter's done a fantastic job of preparing him, because from there on out there's nothing but fullness and appreciation. Yes, Stiles is more hardy than the average human, or even a werewolf, but there's no pain. Just the amazing feeling of Peter filling him up over and over with strokes that make him whimper and moan in pure pleasure.

Stiles instinctively drops to his chest, his ass presented, and Peter growls his appreciation. His thrusts become erratic, and his hand comes around to stroke Stiles.

"Come on, sweetheart," Peter says roughly. "Come for me. Give in."

And Stiles obeys. There's something about Peter's voice, his words, and the possessive way he's been fucking and touching Stiles that makes everything suddenly coalesce into a perfect, shining moment that steals his sense away completely. He barely registers Peter's own roar of triumph and completion.

When he comes back to himself, Peter is between his legs, his mouth working against Stiles's tender hole, licking him clean. The mate bond between them is bright and strong, and Stiles can't help but grin lazily, feeling sated and smug.

* * *

"How old do I look?" Stiles asks Peter. They've just come through the veil, and they've heard the queen's voice calling after them to _not come back_.

Peter shrugs. "Seventeen, eighteen?"

Stiles nods. Puts his hand on the nemeton and seals the 'door' behind him. "I have to convince my dad I'm supposed to be this age."

"And we'll have to explain it to Talia," Peter says with a sour face.

Neither of which will be difficult. "And once we get settled back, we're going after the hunters who tried to kill your pack," Stiles says. He lets his teeth show sharp, his eyes shining.

Peter bares his own fangs and nods. It sends a thrill down Stiles's spine. Whoever planned the fire is in for a world of pain.


End file.
